


You Hold My Heart (In Your Cold Hands)

by sunflower123ink



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A medium amount of toxicity, Author Is Sleep Deprived, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, NOT vore, Not cannibalism, Obsession, Obsessive Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Sane Tom Riddle, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28450062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower123ink/pseuds/sunflower123ink
Summary: Tom Riddle is a poison. Tom Riddle is dripping with infestations and Harry kisses him harder despite it. (Because of it.) Tom Riddle burns like frostbite and Harry thinks he wants to freeze. Knows he will. Knows that Tom's cold hands and even colder ring are going to curl around his arms and they will chill him to the bone. (They will curl around his heart, and they will cradle it.)Tom wants to shatter Harry into a thousand fragments, only so he can be the one to put him back together again. (Harry wants to be shattered.) Tom will breathe ice into Harry and Harry willlivefor it. (Especially when the ice is so inviting. When the ice is so pretty.)Harry can run and hide, but he will never be without Tom. (Tom will never be without him.)Won't you kiss me? Won't you swallow my poison the same way I swallow yours?(Please don't judge this based off the summary I am...incapable of writing them.)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	You Hold My Heart (In Your Cold Hands)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! :) Happy New Years! As always there is a longer authors note at the end! I really hope you guys like this, it was written at 4am and it took, _ages_ for me to get a title and summary for it haha. (Please forgive said summary, if you've been here since my first work you know that those never go well unfortunately.)  
> More of my thoughts and feelings are at the end, for now, um, I leave you with this and ask that you enjoy it! <
> 
> Not beta'd  
> I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, its plot, or anything written by JKR.

"You're still lovely." It's spoken lowly, as though it is an observation made impersonally, as though Harry is not right there.  
  
"Oh Harry, _you're exquisite_." And this is spoken differently. It is whispered and hushed, it is spoken almost _reverently,_ if Tom Riddle did such a thing. (If Tom did revere a person, it would be Harry. If Tom were to ever worship or admire anyone, it would be Harry.)  
  
(Maybe he already does. Maybe that is why he wants to covet Harry away.)  
  
The back of Tom's hand, the barest hint of his knuckles, they skim Harry's cheek and they are freezing. Harry flinches back, and the hand does not follow. It falls to Tom's side, but the man himself comes closer. His knees hit the ground to bring his body nearer, and Tom Riddle kneels to be an inch and a half closer to Harry.  
  
Harry's eyes are staring at his hand, his cold, cold hand, with long, too skinny fingers, that have a metal ring that is even colder than his skin sitting on them. Harry's eyes trail up the man's forearms, where they are lean and pale and attractive. The type of forearms Harry would like to run his palms over and feel. The type you stare at in a coffee shop, even though you don't know the man they belong to.  
  
Harry's eyes are staring at his covered biceps and Harry can see them uncovered in the back of his mind. Can see them resting over shoulders and flexing as they lift up _something_ − Harry can't remember what.  
  
Harry's eyes are staring at Tom's neck. His slim neck with smooth skin, almost strangely so. The type of smoothness that feels fake. His neck, that inhumanely does not, will not, ever show tenseness. Like a marble statue, somehow you never see tendons flexing in that neck. Just the definition of a strong Adam’s apple, one that bobs now, one that has shifted over and over again during shared breakfasts, and one that is very prominent.  
  
An odd thing amongst the flatness of Tom's neck. Only the slightest definition on the sides, the smallest contour, telling you that there are tendons and sinew and muscle, holding his neck there.  
  
Harry doesn't know why he has spent so long staring at Tom's neck, only knows that Tom's hands are cold, that his metal ring is colder.  
  
Only knows that his forearms are such nice forearms, the type that you watch as they lift a coffee cup to a mouth even though you don't know the person. Only knows that his biceps are covered now, but have lifted things, have flexed and been strong.  
  
Only knows that his neck is smooth, too smooth, just like his Adam’s apple is too prominent, and somehow it still looks fine, somehow you only notice when you pay too much attention.  
  
Harry knows that all of this meshes together and creates Tom Riddle.  
  
Harry's eyes are looking at Tom's jawline.  
  
Attentive and complicated green is tracing over bone. A sharp, harsh jawline, one that never has stubble, unless you are Harry, unless you _know_ − one that is nice to drag your lips over. It is there, nice and shadowed by lighting, just for lips, (but only Harry's) to scrape their way across and perhaps, leave blooming purple and red marks along.  
  
Cheekbones that will cut you. Do not place your lips there, you will only return with a bleeding cut, gushing blood on your mouth. It is okay though. He, he will lick the blood, and then kiss your mouth and then flick his tongue inside, and then _swallow you whole_ and Harry _knows_ this. This is not something you observe on the outside, this is something that is figured out only by being swallowed yourself.  
  
Harry knows that the heat of Tom's lips completely contradicts his hands and how chilling they are, Harry knows that Tom is formed by all of this. That Tom is created by a needle and thread of his own design that takes his ring and hands, that takes his nice forearms and strong biceps, that takes his smooth neck, that takes his harsh jawline and sharp cheekbones, and soft lips and sews them all together.  
  
Sews them into a mismatched quilt that has been torn and repaired until it is no longer soft. Maybe it never was, the thread wasn't a very nice thread to begin with.  
  
Harry meets Tom's eyes and Tom is so pretty.  
  
Tom is so pretty.  
  
Harry knows that pretty things will always be the most dangerous. That pretty things can hold monstrosities underneath them.  
  
All Harry wants to do is fall into Tom and let himself be cut to shreds. Cut to shreds by his silver snake tongue and sliced down into slivers by his cheekbones that are _so pretty_ and Harry wants to _bruise them_ but not with his lips. Harry wants to bruise them, and not in the nice way.  
  
Tom is the man you stare at in a coffee shop- he is the man you sigh dreamily over and the one who will ruin you.  
  
Harry has been ruined, and all he wants to do is let Tom ruin him further. To slash him into _nothing._ And Harry knows Tom could.  
  
"Love," And it is spoken so softly, Harry wants to cry.  
  
Tom had taken his knives and was _that_ what Tom's biceps were carrying? A heavy, heavy knife that was used to carve Harry? Harry only knows that Tom made him into his very own cardboard cutout. Perfected and constructed into a puzzle piece. One that will only ever be complete with its other half, and even though it used to have other attachments, they were cut off to fit _this piece right here!_  
  
And right here indeed.  
  
Harry jerks backward. The shock of cold on his face follows him this time.  
  
"Don't worry, I'm not angry." Cold fingers, forearms, cheekbones, lips, _eyes_.  
  
What a liar. Tom's eyes are furious. Are burning and icy with anger and revenge. They are already starting to create gashes along Harry's body. Are already creating lacerations across things that do not fit, that will need to change, that are _irking_ him.  
  
"I just think," His hand slides to Harry's biceps, they are tracing, over and over, in different and distracting shapes. "That we need to talk, hm?" He's closer than ever, chill seeping from Harry's arm and into the rest of his body. Shouldn't Harry be heating him up? Why is he freezing Harry down to the bone?  
  
Distantly, Harry thinks that's the sort of thing Tom does aim to do. That it isn't surprising he's always cold. That he wants to encase Harry in ice, a forever statue for him to keep and be enchanted over.  
  
"Harry, darling, look at me." He murmurs, so enrapturing, so _trapping._  
  
He says it in a way that makes Harry want to walk into ice and stay there to frost over for all eternity.  
  
Harry does, look at Tom. And Harry wants to fall into his eyes and make a home there just as much as he wants to _gouge them out._  
  
Harry's hand twitches, as though he were about to sink his nails into the softness of those pretty eyes, eyes that had sunk their own brand of hooks into Harry once before.  
  
He will not allow them to again.  
  
But he doesn't get the chance. His hand twitches, his fingers shift, and Tom's hand is already there. Cold is already covering his smaller hands and Tom's eyes have already hardened slightly. Tom's other hand moves from his bicep and comes to his shoulder. To his collarbones. To his neck, and to his jaw.  
  
Finally to his chin, thumb on Harry's bottom lip.  
  
"I love you."  
  
"You want to _devour_ me." Harry doesn't know whether he snarls it or whether it is quiet. He thinks the first, and Tom's lips spread into a small grin.  
  
Shiny white teeth. Harry knows they are covered in blood. Knows they want to be.  
  
Tom leans in close, too close and not close enough. Because−  
  
"Maybe. Don't I deserve something, after you left me for so long?" His lips trail along Harry's cheekbones, over to his ear. "Trying to evade me forever…" He tsks. "You never could have done it." He croons so sweetly. So, so prettily.  
  
He brushes his mouth over the shell of Harry's ear and Harry wants to slam his head into the wall. Wants to yank him closer because-  
  
"So what if I want to devour you?" He asks, so breathlessly, and earnest. As though he doesn't know.  
  
_Because that's not normal. Because you can't. Because−  
  
Because I want you to._  
  
Because Harry wants to devour Tom right back, no matter the measly two years he stayed away, in secrets and in shadows and in cold corners that didn't feel enough like cold rings for comfort.  
  
Tom pulls back. Their eyes meet, and there is a delighted glint, not normal, shining in Tom's eyes. His lips are curved in an amused smirk and he tilts his head.  
Harry eyes the curl that falls over his brow. Harry wants to drive a knife into Tom's chest. And then _twist._  
  
"Or is it because you want to devour me right back?" And his tone is too teasing for what he's saying.  
  
Harry's eyes snap to his and off the curl. He wants to twirl his finger around it, and then run his hands through the rest of the waves.

When Tom moves for his lips, when Harry can tell his intent, after two years Harry wants to dive and meet him. Harry wants to lick and bite and swallow and Harry wants to- Harry lunges.  
  
Only one hand meets Tom's throat, the other is still pinned by Tom's and he's easily fended off. Shoved backwards. The lunge was sloppy and uncoordinated and neither of them say but both think,  
  
_Was it because you can't or because you don't want to._  
  
Except they both know the answer, because Harry has so much more fight than that, even with one hand pinned.  
  
"I want…I want to ruin you, I think." And it's confessed so intimately. So enchantingly exhaled. Slipping silently between his lips, lingering as though the words wanted to stick to his mouth and stay there. Harry wouldn't blame them.  
  
He does too.  
  
They are both leaning towards each other. Ensnared in each other's traps. Harry's hand is trapped by Tom's and Tom's eyes are trapped by Harry's.  
  
Harry should've known. It is not only Tom that is building a case for the other to lie in. If Tom is ice then Harry is fire. If Harry is frosting at the edges and slowly chilling over, then Harry is an _inferno_ and Tom is stuck and covered in Harry's flames.  
  
Harry wants to swallow Tom down just as much as Tom wants to shatter Harry into pieces just for him to pick up.  
  
And that will be how they meet. Because Harry will never get enough of Tom's coffee shop forearms and too cold hands and rings and Tom, Tom will never want to stop destroying Harry just so he can glue him back together again.  
  
Harry could run and hide but they will never be rid of each other. And they don't really want to be, either.  
  
"I can't believe you thought you could ever hide from me."  
  
"I can." And it is almost inaudible.  
  
"Maybe." They are so very near each other, bewitched by one another. Captivated. Caught within the spider trap of tension that sews itself in the small space between them. "If your heart was in it. But we both know your heart will always be with me."  
  
And then their mouths are crushing together and teeth are nipping so _sharply_ and Harry knows that it is _him_ that just created the blood that wells up on Tom's lips and it is _Harry_ who licks and swallows it down this time.  
  
They fall back onto the floor and Harry mouths against razor sharp cheekbones as a practically glacial ring shifts against where cold fingers are taking off his shirt. He mouths-  
  
"Ruin me. Turn me into _nothing._ " With panting breaths  
  
" _As long as you will sew me together after with your needle and thread and_ -"  
  
His shirt is removed, and along with it, temporarily his mouth. Hurried movements, and heavy breaths and then their lips are connected again and this time Harry is mumbling a mess against them.  
  
" _And make me as pretty as you. And lick inside of me and swallow the blood and then swallow me. You can devour me, if you want to_."  
  
And Tom shoves him to the floor and his head hits hardwood. It hurts. Tom is mumbling something too, Harry doesn't know what, but eventually their words are simply mixing together, creating a cocktail of feelings that were unsaid for two years. Syllables that they don't put much effort into, that simply spill out.  
  
Harry whispers how petrified he was when he saw Tom. Thought of him. Says that he was so scared of being in ruins he didn't realize he already was. That Tom has already shoved him into destruction, and has already consumed and ravaged him beyond repair. (But Tom could, Tom could mend him.) Says he thought Tom would kill him.  
  
Tom admits in harsh gasps that he was going to, wanted to, in the same way Harry wanted to run, to hide. How he's so incredibly taken by Harry he'll never leave. That Harry isn't allowed to either. So many exhales that hold so many words.  
  
" _Oh God I hate you."  
  
"I have never wanted to be the sole purpose for anyone's life before. I want you to be here only for me."  
  
"I love you too much, you scare me. I'm so greedy, I want to be covered in you. I want you to be covered in me. That's so terrifying."  
  
"You're so pretty."  
  
"I love your eyes. I love your hands too but they're always cold_."  
  
And words that are nearly silent and that go unheard, strung together and connected with strings of saliva. Spoken instead with lips and tongues and eyes. Spoken instead with caresses and searching fingers.  
  
"I'm never going to let you leave again. I love you. You can't get rid of me." And the tone of voice it is told in, is one that Harry has heard so many times before. One that is a petrifying familiarity.  
  
"Yes I can. You know I can."  
  
"Surely you know by now, that wherever you go I won’t be far to follow. You can try, but I will _always_ be there."  
  
Harry's heart beats an extra thump in its cage, like it feels too restricted sitting there, and wants to be released.  
  
"I know." And it is once more so quiet. So soft.  
  
Harry knows that he will be an ice statue for Tom Riddle to shatter and rebuild. And even if he leaves, the piece for his heart will always be in cold hands with an even colder ring.  
  
Knows that Tom destroys him. Creates him.  
  
And he knows that he needs to be able to burn Tom down. To turn Tom into ashes for him to breath in on the daily and never exhale out.  
  
They destroy each other. Create each other.  
  
Tom is obsessed with Harry to the point of annihilation. Will suffocate Harry just so he can be the one to breathe oxygen into him.  
  
Harry will run (and be chased) but without Tom's air and ashes, he will die. Is addicted to the toxins Tom releases. He needs whatever it is Tom breaths into him.  
  
When they lie here, breathing heavily and soaking up each other's poisons, they will understand this. And Tom's arms tighten on Harry. And Harry turns his nose further into Tom's neck. And they will both think that the other is so pretty. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, I hope it was okay. I liked this one but I wasn't super set on it, or the summary, but here we are! This might sound silly (but I like telling ya'll how I feel, and what I think) but it felt like saying that Tom took off Harry's shirt was too much. It's no where near… _smut_ or anything but it felt like I was crossing a line ahhdjxef;l  
> So sorry if that part made anyone uncomfortable, I hope my tags were an alright notice for it!  
> I hope the formatting wasn't weird...and I hope the summary wasn't too painful!  
> I thrive off of feedback, good or bad, so feel free to leave a comment! Criticisms and corrections are welcome. :) Feel like this is getting a bit long, so that's all I have to say. If you liked it, leave a kudos (or a comment!)  
> Love <3 (And by the way, I'm proud of you today! Happy New Years for the second time)
> 
> Also P.S, please tell me this doesn't read like cannibalism…please. Sorry for the kind of long note! <33


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